Crayon
by Elledreamer
Summary: Written for the Idiom Challenge on the HPFC forum. 'A picture paints a thousand words'. Dean has always loved art, and the meaning that pictures can produce...


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you may recognise.**

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There was always a decision to be made. And each decision would effect how the picture turned out. It would affect how it looked, how long it took to complete, the mood it put across, as well as the message. Dean considered it a very important decision.

He'd always been interested in art for as long as he could remember. In particular, he loved drawing things. For Dean, it was never just a cat, or a bird, or a boat. It was a cat living wild off scraps, nesting in a pile of rags and cardboard boxes; it was a bird on its way to feed young, or a boat on a maiden voyage carrying families and friends. Every picture told a story, and Dean knew that whatever he used to create the picture would shape its eventual message.

He remembered the first picture he'd ever drawn, and been properly proud of. It had been the first one that had meant something to him. He was four and it had been done in crayon, and a rip in the corner showed his over-eagerness clearly, but he'd been proud of it, and he brandished it to his mum excitedly. She'd smiled at him and patted his head and told him how wonderful she thought it was, and it had gone on the wall with the others, just another picture amongst the others he'd done. But to Dean, that particular picture was special. It was a picture of a house, with the two of them, his mum and himself, stood outside smiling. It was before his mum had met his step-dad, and Dean remembered the short time that they lived alone together fondly. There was something about the stark red brick, the bright green grass, and his mum's purple jumper all done in crayon that really shouted out to Dean. The crayons showed happiness, and fun, and it reminded him of playing with his friends at school, and laughing. It reminded him of the times his mum smiled and the way her forehead wrinkled when she laughed.

After that, Dean learned that he could give all of his pictures a meaning, and by choosing the right material to do it in could help with setting the scene, and the mood.

After the crayon triumph, his pictures got gradually better. At six, he was using pencil crayons to shade a tree trunk using two different browns, and two years later he found he could mix paints to access colours he'd never dreamed existed. The pictures he presented to his mum and step-dad went from the wall, to the fridge, to frames. Instead of cards and presents, Dean gave his friends and families pictures, each one carefully crafted to give the right message to its recipient.

It wasn't until he turned ten that he discovered the joys of sketching. His mum bought him a set of pencils, and, at first, Dean had been flabbergasted at the lack of colour. But after many failed experiments, he soon discovered that you didn't always need colour to put across a message, and slowly, he began to fall in love with sketching.

Once he was old enough to persuade his mum, he was allowed to go out on his own, and he usually took himself somewhere where he could sit and sketch alone. There was very little to find to draw though. Once he'd already drawn the buildings and shops, he took to the scattering of parks that he could reach easily, and took a great deal of time creating pictures of trees, grass and birds. Each one spoke to Dean on a very personal level, so that each time he looked at one of his completed drawings, he'd be taken back to what he'd felt when he'd drawn it, and the meaning would come flooding back.

He carried on experimenting with sketching, moving on to people. Dean fascinated himself attempting to shape each portrait to an emotion, place, time or feeling.

He experimented with other media too. Watercolour, charcoal, ink, collage, felt pens, stamps, even photography. For each and every picture, Dean took the time to find the meaning behind it. Each picture had a thousand stories to tell in a thousand words, and each time he created something, he had to find the meaning.

As such, once he got to Hogwarts, Dean was amazed at the ways in which he could further his art. He could use magic to charm colours, experiment with shapes, and even get his pictures to move. When Hermione had showed him how to do it, Dean had almost hit the ceiling with excitement and soon after, began a career as the resident Gryffindor artist.

He sometimes drew requests for friends, but mainly Dean drew what was around him. He took the time to create a sketch of Hogwarts from a distance, an owl softly swooping above the turrets. He drew the animals he met in Care of Magical Creatures, and every time he met someone new he found an urge to sketch them down onto parchment or paper. In his trunk, he soon accumulated a collection of drawings and pictures of his closet friends and classmates, as well as pictures of witches and wizards he only heard about in stories.

There were two pictures, however, that Dean prided above most. The first was a sketch of Ginny. It had actually been the catalyst of the beginning of their relationship with each other. She'd approached him one evening in the common room, and asked for a master class in drawing. Dean had sat there trying to show her how to hold the pencil properly and where the shading went, but in the end, she'd just gotten annoyed and huffed away. Dean had taken advantage of his materials being out and had sketched her. The eventual product had even surprised Dean himself. It didn't show Ginny in her annoyed and irritated state, but rather, what he suspected he had really seen. The Ginny in his picture looked far more lost and alone than Dean had ever seen her, but a fiery determination stared from her eyes, and Dean knew that the picture was perfect, and when he'd shown it to Ginny, she'd agreed.

They'd duplicated the picture to have one each, and not long after that they'd started going out with each other, and although their relationship hadn't lasted, Dean had kept the picture anyway, because he knew it was a special one.

The second picture was different. Not only to all the others he'd ever done, but different to anything Dean had ever expected he'd ever be able to do. It was a picture of the DA. Dean loved the picture for its simplicity, and for the mere fact that it was the last picture he'd drawn of himself and his friends before everything had changed. He'd never get a picture like it again. It showed them all standing in the Room of Requirement, smiling and laughing. When he looked back on it, Dean was so amazed by the pure innocence they all showed. It was a far cry from what happened next.

As the war progressed, Dean stopped drawing so much. He really felt he had more pressing matters. He'd tried, once, but he couldn't get the true sense of what was happening down onto the page. After that, he stopped altogether.

He'd considered, several times whilst on the run to begin drawing again. Even if it was with only ink and parchment. Drawing had been his escape, but he couldn't escape what was happening, and as such, he couldn't bring himself to even put pen to paper.

It was only after the war had ended, and the recovery had begun that Dean found himself able to think about drawing again. They'd all suffered terribly in the war and the battle, but the hope that shone from the end of it all gave him a small surge of inspiration, and at that exact moment, he'd known what he had to draw, and what he had to use to get the message across.

It took him several days to finish, but once it was done, Dean knew it symbolised all his drawing over the years. It was the DA again. A ruined castle stood in the background, and a white tomb was to the right of the group. Above the castle, to the left, a small sun peeked from behind a cloud. There was one massive difference though, to Dean's other pictures. This one had been done in crayon.

Dean knew that every picture could paint a thousand words, but this one showed only two.

Of a war won, and an innocence lost.

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**A/N: This was written for the Idiom Challenge by Cuba on the HPFC forum**. **The quote I chose was 'A picture painst a thousand words'. I found it quite difficult in the end but I think I did OK. It made a change writing about someone other than the Weasleys!**

**Thanks to Spinky for betaing for me and pointing out some really obvious mistakes. This one is specially for her. **

**Reviews make it all worthwhile. Please leave one if you're passing by here.**

**Elle xx**


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